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Her own life, perhaps?

The next day, she called Henry “I don’t want to write another Monica book I need to move on,” she said bravely

Henry told her to quit acting silly and reo on for as long as she liked Unless, he added jokingly, Pandy were to die In which case, the rights would revert to Hellenor And Hellenor, of course, was in Amsterdam

Twofor Monica wrapped, and SondraBeth went to Europe—“on business,” she said, being uncharacteristically vague Anotherhadoff in New York for a few days when he finished his one straight to LA After all, it was only a fling Why should she care?

And then SondraBeth called

CHAPTER SEVEN

FINALLY, PANDY thought, seeing SondraBeth’s nus, one of those anxious nights in which the future looked inexplicably bleak, when it felt like nothing exciting or good would ever happen again

“Yarl?” Pandy answered sloith one of their silly made-up expressions

“Peege? It’s meeeeeeee,” SondraBeth squealed joyfully

“Where have you been?” Pandy scolded, as if she couldn’t live without her “I’ve missed you”

“Me too But now I’m back How are you? You sound down”

“No I’m just…” Pandy broke off What was she? “Bored,” she said

“I auor “I’ bored”

“Where are you?” Pandy asked

SondraBeth laughed, as if Pandy ought to knohere she was “I’m on ‘the island’”